Tea and Tattoos
by Lalalackadaisy
Summary: Arthur's sick and Alfred's helping out for once- wait, no, spoke too soon. Mild swearing. Could be taken as Romance, if that floats your boat.


Peaceful days, England had decided long ago, were hard to come by. There were always meetings, and when there weren't meetings, there was paperwork. Then when there wasn't paperwork, there was someone or other constantly trying to visit him. France came by bothering him for a marriage contract, Spain worked up the will to get back at him in some way, his boss needed something done last-minute, or the fairies were having problems.

But, the fairies weren't really a bother, don't get him wrong, he was always glad to help. It just got tiresome sometimes.

Either way, by far, he thought, both the worst and the best of his distractions had to be the good old US of A. Alfred, apparently, hadn't learnt the meaning of 'privacy,' nor how to knock, back when he was living with Arthur, so he was constantly bursting through England's doors to shove all the paperwork off his desk and get in his face about some new Hollywood action thriller that had come out.

Despite the things he yelled at Alfred with a red face each impromptu visit, England actually really enjoyed every time the younger nation came by. It was a better break from the dull monotony of paperwork than France's perversion, and, hard as it was to believe, Alfred sometimes had some honestly insightful things to say. He was just far too excitable and tended to ramble on for ages.

And his use of _English_, by_ God_...

Anyways, his was often easily ignored after Arthur settled down from his routine little fit and America resumed his spiel. It was, however, exceedingly annoying when he wasn't feeling tolerable. Such times came around not too often, but often enough. Usually when he was already irritated after a day at Parliament or another - he couldn't emphasize enough how bothersome the man was - one of France's escapades.

Or when he was sick.

Like now.

xXx

England groaned loudly, burying his head back under the covers and stuffing one of his many pillows over his head. He was not in the mood for light of any sort, be it natural or artificial.

"Turn the sun back off!" He mumbled into his bed, not really caring if he was heard.

"Aw, Iggy!" Alfred turned from the curtains, grinning obnoxiously, England was sure. He could hear the smugness! It was definitely there! "Don't be like that! You're sick, right? The hero's here to help you get better now, so you can stop worrying."

England peeked an eye out from his plush quilt cocoon, looking extremely harrowed as he propped himself up on his elbows. His hair was messier than usual, blond spikes sticking in every direction, and he had bags under his eyes. He was also currently running a fever and something was definitely wrong in his chest, because it hurt to breathe deeply. It would be an understatement to say he felt horrible.

"Go the fuck away. I'm sleeping."

Alfred paused in his quest to tie the other curtain, troubled for a moment. "Um, wow. You're really sick, aren't you?"

Arthur groaned again and flopped back down, deciding to ignore the world for another several hours. That is, after he finished hacking his lungs out into the pillow.

Alfred winced.

xXx

When England came to again, he was greeted with the pleasant site of nothing at all. It had seemed that Alfred grew just that little bit wiser and closed the curtains back up before Arthur decided to maim him.

He shifted a little under the covers, and realized they were quite a bit heavier than earlier. Squinting as his eyes adjusted, Arthur made out Alfred on the floor, leaning against his bedside drawer and staring intensely at a softly glowing screen - his iPhone.

"Idiot, you'll ruin your eyes like that."

"Eh?" Alfred started, concentration snapped.

"Oh, don't play stupid; I know those glasses do nothing to correct your vision."

Alfred chose to ignore the comment and bounced to his feet instead, dropping the device onto the carpet. "Iggy! You're up! I noticed you were shivering before, so, like the hero I am, I got you some more blankets! Aren't you glad I'm around?"

"Yes, because it's such a joy to have to yelling at the top of your lungs the moment I wake up."

Alfred smiled sheepishly, lowering his volume several levels, "Right... Hey, you want some soup or anything? I hated it when you made me eat when I was sick, so I didn't bother making any yet, but I brought you some tea." He reached for the mug on the drawer and thrust it forward, nearly slopping some onto the covers.

"...Tea? You made me tea? How in the world- are you sure it's not poisoned?" England raised a large eyebrow and tried to peer into the mug.

America's face reddened, obvious even in the dark room (although, England could see pretty clearly by now). "Oh, shut up! At least I did it! You like one teaspoon of sugar, right?"

Arthur sat up tentatively, immediately starting to shiver as his blankets fell off - there had to be at least seven, no wonder he was actually feeling warm - and quickly bundling himself up again as Alfred one-handedly propped up a few pillows for him. He took the cup.

"Actually, I've taken to not adding sugar, but one teaspoon is still fine." England took a sip, surprised to find lemon added, as well. Yes, he was right to be suspicious; his former colony had definitely called another for help. "You're being awfully thoughtful. What happened to you?"

"I- you got sick, that's what happened!" America plopped down on the bed, neatly picking up England and placing him back down in the middle so he would have room. "Why wouldn't I be thoughtful? I'm the hero, and the hero's supposed to help people, duh."

England looked down, gently stirring the teaspoon Alfred had left in the rather large cup. He pressed the lemon slice against the side, squeezing out more juice. He could faintly make it out mixing with the tea. "So, you definitely didn't ask anybody else? You came up with adding lemon to the tea on your own? And you remembered not to mix in any milk afterwards?"

"Of course!" Alfred looked proud, pointing a thumb at his chest. "I didn't even look online!"

In the following silence, Arthur realized his ears were ringing rather loudly.

"Damn it, I called Mattie and asked, okay? He said I should probably add honey, but, man, that stuff's really freaking gross."

England burst out laughing, the joy lasting a few seconds before he broke into another coughing fit and nearly suffocated as his throat convinced him it should rip itself out roughly and painfully.

xXx

It was clear, after several minutes of trying, that England wasn't going to go anywhere unless he crawled, so Alfred ended up picking him up - blankets and all - to carry him to the kitchen, where the American busied himself making more tea. Arthur just sat there and watched, trying to figure out if he was freezing cold or way too hot. He couldn't tell.

"Hey," Alfred mumbled, "I don't remember who I called, but he said you should drink a lotta tea. So here."

"Matthew," his patient replied with no uncertainty, taking the cup, "You called Matthew."

"Who?"

England paused for a moment and then decided it was a good moment to take a large gulp, nearly spitting it out all over Alfred's face when he realized how hot it was. He painfully choked the tea down.

"A-Anyways," he started after he was sure he could manage to speak, "Why are you here? Weren't you doing something in California?"

"When you're sick?" Alfred laughed, "No friggin' way! Hey, how many times am I gonna hafta say that I'm gonna take care of you, huh?"

"Right..." England should have known it was the hero complex in play here. He wondered what America skipped out on doing to come here...

"Plus, Francis just told me you totally have a tattoo on your back!"

This time, England gave into his urge to spew tea all over Alfred, and successfully dowsed the eager puppy-like look on his face."

xXx

"Aw, Iggy!" Alfred dragged out the last vowel painfully, "C'mooooon, just show me! I wanna see!"

"No."

"Pleeeeeease?"

"No."

"Pretty, pretty please, with extra sugar on top?"

England looked at him, mildly disgusted. "What?"

America gave up on begging and decided to put Plan B into motion. He huffed angrily.

"Well, fine! If you won't show me, I'll just look for myself."

"Hey, what?" England yelped as he was picked up and dumped roughly on the couch, thankfully leaving his tea on the counter, "Be _gentle,_ you arse! I'm sick, which you seem to have forgotten sometime in the past three seconds, so it hurts when you throw me around!"

Alfred just jumped on after him, at least in the right mind to avoid landing on Arthur, and flipped the Brit prone. Using one hand to hold down Arthur's currently significantly weaker ones - and he was several times stronger on a normal day, which was a nice plus to being an international superpower - he dug through the layers of blankets before he found the last one, grabbing it and scrunching it up to open view of England's back. Lastly, ignoring the loud swearing now coming from the upper half of England (which was completely covered in blankets by this point) he raised the pajama top with high expectations.

He stared, registering somewhere that England was kicking him really hard in the back, before he collapsed into laughter.

"Oh- Oh, God, dude, that's-" England buried his face into his arms under the thick layers of cloth, mortified. Alfred was desperately gasping for air. "That is so rich! A guitar? Really? Arty, you're killing me-"

"I'll do more than just kill you, you stupid wanker, if you don't get off me right now!" Arthur ended up screaming, quickly regretting it as he was reduced to whimpering into the couch cushions, trying not to inhale to deeply lest he cough just one more time.

Alfred, meanwhile, had tried to get off, only to fall off the couch in hysterics.

England pulled his shirt back down as soon as he could, blushing dark red and burying himself back under the blankets, forming a little fortress for himself to sit in. At least this way, the sound of Alfred's laughter was dulled somewhat. He could wait it out until the blood in his face returned to normal levels.

The couch beside him dipped unexpectedly and England fell over sideways, landing in Alfred's lap. He glared as his 'castle' was demolished, shivering again now that the mild excitement was over.

"That is exactly why I didn't tell you. I knew you'd laugh at me, and I get enough of that already over my cooking." Which, if anyone asked, was wonderful. Ungrateful colonies just had no taste, and who ever listened to France, anyway?

America had finally calmed down and was tucking the blanket in around Arthur again, closing all gaps so that the room-temperature air wouldn't enter the quilts. Surprisingly, England didn't protest at being left in his lap, so he took to running his fingers through Arthur's sweaty hair, unplastering it from the man's forehead.

England was still frowning upwards toward him. "And to think I was considering you helpful. Why, you're no help at all! Just an annoyance."

"Mm," Alfred hummed, "That's whatchya always say."

"Because it's true."

"Yeah, totally. You want more tea?"

Arthur yawned and ended up doing a humorous set of shallow inhales and exhales as he tried not to breathe too deeply. "No, I want to close my eyes, and not open them again for another sixteen hours."

Alfred looked to the side, taking a moment to reach for the house phone conveniently located on the coffee table near the couch. It didn't seem very random, as England had three different handsets and his house wasn't all that huge. "Go ahead, I'll call your boss and tell him you're taking the day - actually, prol'ly the week, you're healthy as shit - off."

"Thank you, great hero." Arthur stated dryly.

Alfred beamed, missing the sarcasm completely. "No problem! Just doin' my job!" He promptly propped his feet up on the coffee table and started dialing while he grabbed for the TV remote with his other hand.

England sighed and snatched the pillow Alfred was leaning on, stuffing it under his head. America's jeans weren't_ that_ comfy to lay on.

He fell asleep to the sound of morning cartoons. Not the best lullaby, but the hand that resumed gently combing through his hair made up for it.


End file.
